Calloused
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: “Self mutilation to appease culpability?” Her question rang out through the darkness of the room. No answer echoed back.' Zelda muses on how some scars seems so much more potent than others. [one shot, slight Zelda x Link]


**AN: Another one. In short time too. Teh yayz!**

**Disclaimer: LoZ ain't mine. It's a depressing thing, too.**

**Enjoy.**

_**Calloused **_

She inhaled sharply. Despite the fresh air and sunshine, her head throbbed.

"Rough day?" He sounded genuinely concerned, if not slightly amused.

"You try running a kingdom," she bit back, only mockingly irritated. He laughed.

"No, thank you." He removed his hat, ruffling his blond hair with his hand, before reclining back onto the grass. His guard down, she quickly reached over to snatch the cap. "Hey!" He protested, but she pulled away quickly and in a moment of absolute childishness, placed the hat atop her own head, where it engulfed her crown and slid down, past her forehead and rested just flush with her eyebrows. He smirked.

She looked up, lopsided cap and all, to retort, "Well, if your head wasn't so big…"

"Har, har, very cute, Princess," he stood and reached down to reclaim his cap, and adorning it securely once more, continued, "You know, such behavior is quite unbecoming of a monarch."

He missed the slightly somber expression that graced her face in that instant, but she quickly shook it off, and responded, "Speaking of which, we should probably head back to the castle. I still have duties to attend to, and I doubt my high council will very much appreciate the fact that I squander away the day about on the countryside." He nodded, and extended her his hand.

Due to the stifling heat of the summer's day, both of them had forsaken the usual staples of their attire, such as gloves. Zelda extended her naked hand to reach his, and upon contact, flushed furiously. His hands were calloused, likely from swordplay and other labor, strong and firm, but undeniably pleasing to the touch. She forced herself to ignore the heat rising in her cheeks.

It did not, however, go unnoticed by Link.

"Are you all right, Princess?" He asked. She nodded, fanning herself with her free hand.

"It's just a little warm today," she lied. He shrugged in agreement, and Zelda was acutely aware that he still held her hand. She marveled at the sensation of his skin pressed against hers, relished the juxtaposition of rough against smooth, taking in how completely different it was to her own skin. In the back of her mind, she vaguely realized he was speaking to her, and she forced herself to attention.

"Shall we head back?" She nodded, and he whistled for Epona. They both mounted, she holding unsteadily to the sides of his waist until he playfully grabbed her hands and forced them around his stomach (eliciting from her the faintest of embarrassed grins) and upon Link's urging, the horse began to make its way back to the castle at a healthy trot.

Upon returning to the castle, Zelda found herself inundated with tasks and royal responsibilities, unsurprisingly, and she within an hour she longed for another respite with Link out in the lush, green summer fields. But he was long gone, leaving her alone to her own devices. Nevertheless, she pushed on through the day, and come nightfall, undressed exhaustedly and collapsed onto her welcoming bed. Sinking underneath the silken duvet, she allowed herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she unwound mentally, briefly going through the day's mundane events until her memory recalled the moment of Link and her hand clasping. Her hand seemed to heat upon recollection, and fascinated, she pried her tired eyes open to examine her palm. She brought her other hand to it and allowed her fingertips to brush gingerly across the velvety surface of her skin. It was creamy and soft, and completely unlike Link's, and for some reason she was devastatingly disappointed by this revelation. Her forefinger traced idly, remarking the lack of calloused skin.

A testament to one's achievements, she mused, that's calloused skin was. Link's skin was toughened where hers was not – he had been the one to fight for her people, to reclaim her country. His body had bruised and his skin had hardened. And she had stayed locked away in a tower, hands remaining silken to the touch.

How she wished it were not so.

She should have been the one to bleed, to suffer. It was not that she hadn't suffered – it was a terrible feeling, being locked away and helpless. But her trials were nothing compared to that of Link's.

On a morbid impulse, she drew her nails forcibly across the smooth palm, observing the faint chafing of the skin.

"Self-mutilation to appease culpability?" Her question rang out through the darkness of the room. No answer echoed back. Mulling for a moment, she finally resigned herself to curling against the warmth of the bed sheets and drifting off into an uneasy slumber.

Days passed, and she was overwhelmed with obligations and therefore had very little time to waste the day away with Link. Not as if she could though – days such as those were very few and between, due to Link's adventurous spirit, and she those occurrences when she actually saw him at all were rare. Thusly, she was left on her own, to deal with the stresses of managing her still infantile kingdom. Doing little to placate her temperament was her current obsession with the silkiness of the palms of her hands, which had evolved from a slight fascination to morose fixation, plaguing her whenever she had unoccupied time to think. Her hands were reminders of all that she had failed to do – the disturbing lack of marred skin haunted her.

To remedy their state, she decided to take up swordplay.

It was an obvious solution, she realized. She would learn to wield the weapon expertly (she was not half bad, but neither was she good truly skilled), and perhaps then she could rest easy and allow her guilt to subside.

So she trained. She made certain to set time aside during the day to practice, and even if she could not, she would rise earlier and retire to bed later to ensure that, each day, her hands blistered at the caress of bitter steel against her palms.

While training, she often yearned for Link to ride up, in all his Hero's glory, to watch her, help her, understand her profound need to _do this_. But he never came. And she pushed on.

She decided one day that she wanted to actually put her skills to the test. And therefore, despite the disappointing lack of Link's presence, she addressed her guards that she was going for a jaunt about the countryside. And though they protested, she withdrew her weapon, and at the hissing of steel they realized it was futile to argue.

"Besides," she did her best to ease their anxieties, "it is not as if anyone will recognize me." And it was true, dressed in a simple tunic and leggings, with her hair braided back into an elegant yet casual plait, she looked no more regal than the next commoner. And so, off she went.

The sun's rays were hot against her back, but she nonetheless traversed a good portion of the day, looking for something, some beast or creature whom she could prove herself against. She found nothing, and realized that perhaps Link's deeds did more that simply free the castle from Zant's and Ganondorf's clutches; indeed, the rest of Hyrule seemed just as liberated from evil. She felt severely ashamed that she was actually disappointed by this.

She rode for hours until, finally, dusk approached. Dissatisfied, she began to urge her steed, a beautiful black satin-skinned mount, to return home when she saw off in the distance a beautiful gray tree. The leaves shimmered a gold hue in the setting of the sun, and she felt compelled to ride nearer. The tree was large, larger than any in the surrounding area, and unlike she had any seen before. The bark was ashen in tinge but large in bulk, and out of it stemmed various thick branches. Zelda felt a sudden compulsion to climb the ashen-gray tree. She dismounted her horse, and approached the tree warily. She felt an impulse that coursed through her fingers, begging her to touch the bark, to sweep her fingers lightly against the surface. To her right and not to high above her head was a sturdy branch, and she reached out to grasp at it, wrapping the slender digits of both her hands about the girth of it. Securing her grip, she hoisted herself upward, kicking off the base of the truck. Flexing her arms, she felt herself pull higher – she was almost there.

And then, in some supreme twist of fate, on hand slipped, then the other, and in a flash she came crashing to the ground, landing hard on her backside with a resounding 'thud.' She inhaled sharply, wincing at the stinging sensation. She was sure to bruise, from both the fall and sheer embarrassment of the proximity of the injury. It would be worse, she reasoned. Someone else could have seen.

And then, with a brief jolt of panic, she swiveled her head frantically to ensure that no one else _had_ seen. But she was very much alone, save for the steed a few mere feet away, which seemed to be growing weary of her ridiculous antics. She rose, tentatively, favoring her backside. How foolish she felt in that moment – here she had come to challenge monsters and brandish her skills in battle, and yet she could not even do something so simple as climb a tree! But she refused to be bested by this, such a trifling matter. She approached the tree again, determined.

Twice more she fell, though more prepared, was able to first land on her feet before tumbling less clumsily to the earth.

The fourth time, she managed to successfully wrap herself around the branch, pulling herself up with a slight 'oof,' and after a few moments, she regained her balance. She smiled a little, pleased with herself, but then looked up.

There was much tree left to go. So she got to climbing.

Thankfully, maneuvering up the other branches was not so difficult as the first; lucky was she, too, for falling off a higher branch would have had disastrous results. She continued clambering. There were multiple instances where her palm would slip and abrade against the branch it was grasping at; when this happened, she would hiss in slight pain, but then try again. A few times, as she pulled her body upward, various limbs of her body would bang painfully against the limbs of the tree; despite her sores, climbing the gray tree made her feel strangely_liberated and free._ After much labor, she reached as high a sturdy branch as she could climb. Upon reaching the apex, she glanced down to measure her progress.

How high up she was! She looked, peering through the not-so-thick lush of leaves, and observed the sky. The faintest trace of violet was creeping into the horizon, meshing with the rosy hue left by the abandoning sun. She could not suppress a shudder as she was painfully reminded of Midna. She shook the thought from her head and tried to think of other things, such as despite the fact that she had indeed been, in her lifetime, higher than her current state (including when she was imprisoned in that dreary tower), she had never quite so close to the heavens.

From the ground, she heard a light clopping of hooves, and slightly unnerved that her horse was forsaking her, she did her best to balance on the limb of the tree whilst still craning her neck for sight of her steed. Indeed, there it was, black as midnight, sitting patiently and motionless. But the clopping continued.

Then who, she wondered, was approaching?

In that moment, she received her answer, a russet stallion meandering into her sight, carrying an all-too familiar rider.

"Easy now, girl," Link's voice carried up to her as she perched herself in the tree, as if she were a nightingale thrush. She watched as Link surveyed the sight, a rider-less horse sitting in the middle of a field next to a large, ashy tree. Coming to the correct conclusion, he looked upward and met her eyes, clearly amused. "Why, good evening, Princess," he said, smiling warmly.

She granted him a small smile in return. "Hello, Link," she spoke, watching as he dismounted Epona and sauntered over to the tree. Easily, he reached up for the first branch and effortlessly pulled himself up. She could help but feel a twinge of irritation at his performance. Without difficulty he climbed to the branch where she sat, and looked up. Taking his cue, she, very cautiously, sidled over to make room for him on the bough. He sat besides her, balancing carefully. He looked quite carefree, and she could not help but be amazed at his complete lack of fear; she, though quite imperceptibly, was gripping the limb beneath her diligently. Despite her best efforts, he seemed to have noticed. Delicately, he wrapped his arm around her tiny waist, and she felt her cheeks redden furiously.

_That_, she thanked the Goddesses, he seemed to be completely oblivious of. Her body felt aflame where he touched her, curled his arm flush around her body, but she was in too precarious a position to really care much. She allowed herself to relax against him, more for support than anything else (yes, that was what she reasoned). After a few moments, he spoke.

"So, what brings you here, Princess?"

"I climbed this tree," she stated, simply. He chuckled.

"Yes, that is apparent." She scoffed, and he laughed a bit more. "What I meant was, _why?_"

And her answer, lame though it was, was given: "I wanted to." She expected him to be half confused, puzzled by her silly want, but instead, he nodded, as if he understood completely.

"You know," she started, and he turned his head to face her. "I've never climbed a tree before." She chuckled a little, recalling her attempt. "I'm afraid I'm not that good at it." His grin widened.

"It takes practice. But, you must have been resilient, to get this high."

"…It was if I had this complete and consuming desire. I really can't explain it adequately… I just felt like I needed to climb it." She tried her best to explain. He nodded.

"I've felt that way before." She turned to him, questioningly, but he nodded and continued. "It makes you feel free. You know, doing what you want, acting on impulse." He gave a faint smile. "It feels nice."

She nodded. It did.

By that time, the bright plumage of the sky had given way to a darker, more somber hue of deep blue, peppered with the slightest traces of glowing stars. She inhaled, relaxing, but the small action seemed to throw her body off-kilter. She jolted, losing her balance, but Link's grip on her was sure and reflexively he moved his other hand from the base of the tree to quickly grab her. Once balanced, they stayed, motionless for a few moments, hearts both pounding. She looked at him ashamedly. "Sorry," she said meekly. He shook his head, smirking a bit.

"Just, don't do that again," he said, and she chuckled a bit. During the scare, it seemed his hand had come to clutch hers; it was now she noticed, and without realizing what she was doing, she pulled his palm closer to her face, much to his wonderment, and examined it. "Is something wrong, Zelda?"

"Your hands are so calloused," she lamented, and he was slightly taken aback. Noticing his expression, she was quick to assure him, "No, that's a good thing." He raised an eyebrow, quizzically.

Her voice was leaded. "It signifies that you've actually done something. Made a difference here," she could not help the bitterness in her voice.

He leaned his head in, slightly. "What have I done?"

"…Everything I could not," the words were slightly choked, coming out in a harsh whisper. He shifted his palm to grip her hand, but seemed to struggle to offer her words of comfort. She continued, "You bruised and bled in all the ways I could not. Your hands calloused whilst mine remained unblemished, locked away and helpless in a tower." She felt a faint moistness rolling down her cheek, and without hesitation Link unclasped her hand to gently brush it away, before reclaiming her grip once more.

He began to speak. "There are different kinds of battle scars, Zelda," his voice was low, comforting even. "And not all are worn on our skin."

She looked at him sharply and he met her gaze, his azure eyes glittering with the pale rays of the moon. Her breath caught in her throat; the thought occurred to her, not for the first time, that he was very handsome. Pushing the idea from her mind, she made to argue, "That's well and good, Link, but the fact remains that when it came down to it, I failed my people. I didn't fight, I was a coward-"

"Like scars," he interjected loudly, cutting her off, "there are different types of bravery." She opened her mouth to retort, but he shook her off. "It's one type of courage to give your body completely, to physically fight that which you fear to overcome it." His gaze on her was intense now, and she did her best to shirk underneath it; nonetheless, his grip on her was firm and she could not draw away. "Likewise, it's another type of courage to willingly sacrifice oneself to a person, or," he cleared his throat, "to a country and throne." Now, his gaze dropped. "Having one type of courage but lacking the other… well, that doesn't make you a coward, Zelda."

She drew in a shaky breath; she felt more wetness caress her cheek. How long had she been weeping for, exactly?

He began speaking again, though. "My point is, Zelda… you do what you must. For your people. You constantly sacrifice your own wellbeing for others, such as your people, Midna even, and, well…" his voice trailed off for the briefest of moments, considering his next words, "I can't imagine the scars you have."

His eyes met hers again. "I certainly don't envy you."

She gave a weepy chuckle, comforted, and pulled from his grasp to dry her eyes. "Are you ready to get down?" He asked her, and she nodded, smiling faintly.

He went first, nimbly weaving his way down, and she followed his suit, doing her best to mimic his path lest she be caught stuck. He reached the lowest branch and promptly launched himself from it, landing expertly on his feet. She hesitated.

Ah.

As if realizing it with her, he turned and looked up, and began to laugh gently. "Oh dear, Princess, how ever shall you get down?" He mocked her, ever so gently. She looked at him tetchily, trying to not reveal the inner monologue running through her head, cursing her lack of foresight and failure to realize that what went up had to eventually come _down_. Indignantly, she responded to him, "I'm going to jump, like you."

He laughed more, though not maliciously. "Then jump, and I shall catch you."

And she was oh so tempted to accept his offer, to leap into his strong arms and allow him to gallantly carry her to her horse, as if he were her prince. But she was a stubborn woman, and refused to give in.

"Stand aside, and I shall land myself." He laughed again, raising an eyebrow unbelievingly.

"As you wish, Princess." And he acquiesced, moving over to give her space to jump (or fall).

Once he was far enough over, she leapt off of the bough and soared back down to the earth, her hair whipping loose from its plait behind her, drifting in the air as she fell down to the ground. She landed on both feet, knees slightly buckling due to the impact and a slight shock running through her ankles, but she did not tumble. Pleased with herself, she made to rise, but she was too soon; the momentum from the jump was still carrying her downward, and she found herself flying forward, ground rising up to meet her faster than she wished for.

A strong arm outstretched and caught her deftly. She heard Link's amused voice as she half-landed and he half-caught her: "A compromise, then." She smiled despite herself.

He helped right her, holding her steady until she had retained her bearings. Examining to make well sure she was fine, his face then grew very serious. "Zelda, did you do that while climbing the tree?" She followed his gaze down to where it focused on her arms. Sure enough, along each arm ran multiple angry red marks, earned as she grated them against the various limbs of the gray tree.

"Those are sure to smart tomorrow," he informed her. Link smirked again. "I hope you're pleased with your little illicit excursion, Princess," he teased her.

She smiled softly. Yes, the marks were sure to smart, and the welts occurring from them were likely to remain as small scars for a few days. But she was nonetheless satisfied.

She decided some scars were worth it.

**AN: I'm ambivalent about this piece. Some of it I feel like I really got what I wanted across, but other parts, the tone seems just too…bright. Like it doesn't flow, but at the same time I cannot decide whether or not it actually fits. Ah well. This was originally supposed to be much darker, but I definitely ended up diluting it a lot. That could not be helped.**

**I really experimented with this, and tried to add in some stuff in that hopefully you guys catch. Like, symbolism and allusions and stuff like that. We'll see how it goes. I'm not that great of a writer. Ah well again. /shrugs/ **

**Read and review. Also, if you have any idea of what I could do to improve upon this, don't hesitate to lemme know! Thanks!**


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